EDDIE
'We know the journal is a fake. We just have to prove it,' I said.
The red blotches on Sofia's face looked raw and angry. Her eyelids were swollen, along with the skin around them. She hadn't stopped shaking all day.
I'd called a friend, got Sofia something to level her out.
The Valium was taking her down a notch. Straightening her out of a hyper-
tense state. At least she could speak now. She could breathe more easily. The panic had stopped choking her.
Sofia looked back into her apartment, and Harry was closing her blinds, checking the doors, making sure the place was secure. 'Eddie, tell me straight – am I going to jail?' she asked.
'No,' I said. Right then, it felt like a lie. 'You'll be fine. Put on one of those old black and white movies you like so much. Order in. Harry and I need to work tonight. We need to concentrate and we won't be able to do that if we're worrying about you.'
Sofia rushed forward, letting go of the door. She threw her arms around my waist, her head rested on my chest. I was surprised by this, and at first I didn't know what I should do. Then I put my arms around her, and patted her on the back, told her things would be okay.
She let go, thanked me, and Harry came out of the apartment into the hallway.
'Don't worry, sweetheart, this guy is the best trial lawyer I've ever seen. He's not as good as me, he's not perfect, but he's pretty damn good,' said Harry.
'How can I be in second place to you if I'm the best trial lawyer you've even seen?' I asked.
'Well, I've never seen myself. How could I?'
For a second. A split second. A smile appeared on Sofia's face as Harry and I argued good-naturedly.
'Thank you,' she said, and closed the door.
I followed Harry to the elevator. We got in, and before the doors closed I asked, 'Do you think you got everything?'
'I got the kitchen knife, and a pack of razors from the bathroom.'
He opened his jacket. Sofia's kitchen knife was secreted in his inside pocket. 'We've done everything we can. She'll be okay. We just have to figure out
how we're going to win this,' said Harry.
The 2nd Avenue Deli is no longer on 2nd Avenue. Hasn't been since 2006 when
the landlord and the owners couldn't come to an agreement. The restaurant moved to East 33rd and 3rd Avenue, and New York moved with them. Abe Lebewohl, an immigrant to New York, had worked his way up from busboy to counterman in a deli on East 10th Street, and finally opened his own place in 1954. Abe loved food, people and New York City. Everybody loved Abe. He was murdered on the street in 1996, on his way to the bank with the cash from the restaurant's takings. New York mourned him, and family took over the business.
I first came here with my mom and dad when I was a kid. When Abe put a pastrami sandwich in front of me that was bigger than my head, and took time to talk to my family and get to know us, I knew I would always come back.
I went upstairs to the second floor. Harry had reserved a booth in the back corner. When I arrived, Kate, Bloch and Harry were all seated. There was an empty chair at the corner of the booth for our fifth guest. She hadn't arrived yet. I sat down beside Harry, Kate and Bloch opposite.
'I'm sorry, Kate,' I said. 'We expected this, and it would've been a shock to me too, but we talked about it. Alexandra is trying to frame Sofia. That journal is dynamite to this jury.'
She was nibbling at a bowl of French fries, her head down. Bloch drank coffee and Harry had a beer. There was a heaviness in the air. A weight that sat on all of us.
'I just didn't think it was Alexandra,' said Kate. 'But it has to be. She's the only one that benefits from this. I watched the jury – they ate up Sylvia Sagrada. They believed every word. You should've seen how they looked at Sofia. With hatred. Jeez, I'm sorry too. Your client is innocent. I can't be a part of putting her away ... I just ...'
Elbows on the table, Kate's fingers massaged her temples. She was going through hell. She'd given up her career in a firm to go out and defend a woman she believed to be innocent. Now, everything had changed. Her first case turned out to be a nightmare. Representing a murderer. And no matter what the cost to her, I knew Kate wouldn't set a killer free. She was here, which meant she would help if she could. She hadn't yet been crucified by that numbing code of ethics that keeps lawyers sane and out of jail – you don't speculate over your client's innocence, you don't ask if they're guilty, you do your job and the jury decides. Lawyers get asked it all the time – how can you represent someone you know is guilty? Our job tells us never to ask about guilt, never to put ourselves into a position where we question our client's guilt or innocence – we just put forward
their case. That's the job.
A crock of shit. A lie we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night. Kate hadn't
been taught to park her conscience yet. The one thing that was saving her was inexperience. She hadn't been to the other side of that door. The door where you turn off your instincts, and you do your job no matter what, even if your client is guilty. I'd been through that door, and I'd spent the rest of my life trying to make up for it.
'I think you're both right,' said Harry. 'There's a whole degree of planning involved in this murder to make it look like something else, and too many people who could tell the truth about what really happened are dead or missing. It's not a coincidence. None of it. Alexandra wrote that journal. She killed those people.'
Kate leaned back, closed her eyes and shook her head.
'I can't let her get away. I have to nail her, Kate. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if Harper's death is linked to this case,' I said.
The chair at the edge of the table squeaked on the floor as it was pulled out. Paige Delaney sat down. I introduced her to Kate and Bloch.
'Paige is a fed, but don't hold that against her. She's seen the case files and videos. I asked her to help us with a profile,' I said.
'I haven't quite finished it yet,' said Paige. 'And I don't know how useful it will be. You should have it tomorrow at the latest, but I can talk through some of it now. First thing is that I believe we're dealing with a serial killer. And that's where the problems with a profile begin.'
'I thought the FBI had profiling down to a fine art,' said Harry.
'Not yet we don't, there's a kind of rift happening in the Bureau. We're working on definitions, categories and sub-categories of killer types that have existed now for forty years. I think we need to overhaul the entire process.'
'Why?' asked Harry.
'Because we're working from a baseline simplicity. Our work has always been focused on creating a profile that every law enforcement officer can understand. The reality is never that simple. In this case, it's even more difficult because of the lack of research into female serial killers. Even our sub-types and categories of serial killer are based on male-focused research. Female serial killers have been overlooked for decades. About fifteen to twenty percent of all serial killers are female, and they make up only about three percent of the research.
'Even our methods of tracking and identifying serial murder don't work as well as they should. In order for a cop on the beat to enter details of a murder on our ViCAP database, they have to fill out a form, which asks one hundred and fifty questions. It takes a couple of hours to do it right. You think a cop has a
couple of hours to help us with research?'
Bloch leaned forward, but said nothing. Other than nodding her head in a
greeting, she hadn't said a word, but I could tell she was taking it all in.
'Upshot is the FBI will tell you there are perhaps fifty serial killers at large in the United States. The real figure could be closer to two thousand. Statistically, that means there are between three and four hundred female serial killers operating right now. And we have no idea who they are, or the extent of their
crimes.'
'Jesus,' said Harry. 'What about this case?'
The waiter brought a selection of sandwiches and sharing platters, and we fell
silent until he was done.
'So, what do you think? Is it Alexandra or Sofia? I don't want to prejudice
your view with my own opinion. I just need to hear from someone outside this trial,' I said.
'Which Avellino sister is the killer? That's a tough question. Neither fit a typical profile exactly. Both have experienced significant childhood trauma with the death of their mother. There's suspicion over that death, and what you told me about the bite mark is interesting. Both girls were sent away from their father after their mother's death, different schools, separate lives. Yet ...'
'What?' I said. 'We need you to make a call, Delaney. We think the trial is being rigged here.'
Delaney took a bite from a sandwich, wiped her lips with a napkin and thought it over. I could see her wheels turning.
'Most serial killers are not mentally ill,' she said.
'You're kidding me,' said Harry.
'A lot of them are psychopaths, but that's not a mental illness. If it was, half
the CEOs of Fortune 500 companies would be in psychiatric hospitals. Most serial killers function normally in life, they actually learn how to fit in. One of the first major works on serial killers was by Clerkley – it's called The Mask of Sanity. Back then, in 1941, they figured if you did insane things then you were insane. Not so today. Looking at your girls, Sofia's self-harming doesn't fit well with the profile. People self-harm for all kinds of reasons, but it's one of the factors that is steering me away from her.'
'Gun to your head – which one is the killer?' said Kate.
'Alexandra,' said Delaney.
Harry told her about the journal, and our line of thinking now that it had
emerged as evidence in the trial.
'It's smart. That journal will have a big sway on the jury. If the journal
implicates Sofia in the poisoning, and this killing and trial is part of some plan,
which is what it looks like, then sure. Alexandra has faked the journal well enough to convict her sister and get herself an acquittal. She doesn't have to be a master forger either – Frank's handwriting was debilitated because of the drugs. Smart.'
'So what do we do now? We can't let her get away with this,' I said.
'If I put her on the witness stand you can cross-examine her?' said Kate. 'You'd be knowingly throwing your client under the bus. You can't elicit
false testimony from her either – what if she convinces the jury she didn't do it? She's managed to convince both of you. If I call Sofia and Dreyer does a number on her then it could make things even worse,' I said.
We sat in silence for a few moments, lost in thought.
'Don't call the defendants,' said Bloch. 'The problem is the journal. We show the jury it's a fake. The DAs spent all their time proving it is authentic. I don't think they've had time to consider if it's accurate.'
With the exception of Kate, who was casually eating a French fry while her friend talked, Harry, Delaney and I were all open-mouthed. These were the first words Bloch had spoken since we'd sat down. I guess she didn't talk unless she had something damn important to say.
'Holy shit, that's exactly what we need to do,' I said.
Bloch said nothing.
'Damn, that's the whole nine yards right there,' said Harry. He stared straight
at Kate and said, 'Does she do that a lot?'
Kate raised her soda to her lips, hesitated and said, 'Welcome to my world.'